I swallowed back a yelp and put all my weight on the smarting leg.
"Control. Spatial awareness. Your reactions should be calculated, not simply avoidant." Seth
reset, and I followed his lead.
"I know, I know." I'd heard the same instruction hundreds of times. I tried to loosen up, letting
my years of training and muscle memory take over.
Seth's shoulder switched, and I pivoted just as a swing cut down overhead, narrowly missing
me. He drew back the weapon, and his weight subtly shifted forward. Seth's eyes flickered,
and I froze, hesitating mid-step.
The tip of the padded sword hit me dead center in the chest. I toppled, my back smacking
the mat. I clawed at the armor futilely, struggling for breath.
Seth stared down at me. "Don't second-guess yourself."
"I think you… cracked my sternum…" I moaned once I'd caught my wind again. Slowly, I
rolled onto my stomach—a sharp pain stabbed me in the chest—and struggled to push
myself up.
"No I didn't. Back on your feet."
Thirty minutes later, I was again laboring to breathe. The floor was slick with the sweat my
sopping shirt could no longer soak up. The armor lay in a stinky heap beside me.
My lungs and thighs burned, and blooming bruises throbbed all over, broadcasting my
failures. I'd taken fewer lumps than I'd feared, though, and by the end I was avoiding three
out of every four strikes with smooth efficiency.
"Listen, Torrin. To survive, you have to react faster than whatever is trying to kill you," Seth
said as I went to one knee and tried to catch my breath. "But eventually, something will take
you by surprise, or be too fast, or catch you wrong-footed. It isn't just your ability to react that
will keep you alive, but to act. Analyze, interpret, take action."
He paced back and forth for a minute. I decided to be charitable and assume he was letting
me rest. That is, until he swapped his padded "longsword" for two shorter pieces of padded
pipe. My forehead scrunched. He'd never been a dual wielder.
"Next, I want to do something a little different. Before we start the exercise though, I want
you to analyze me. Tell me—"
"Easy," I snorted. "You're strong, you're an asshole, and you don't care what I'm saying right
now because you've already decided my answer is going to be wrong."
Seth's exhale was almost a chuckle as he shook his head. "No, examine my strengths and
weaknesses. Look at my stance, posture, the positioning of my hands, and predict my next
move."
By the time I noticed he'd shifted into a combat stance, he was already coming at me, both
swords slashing in an X like he meant to take off my head. I turned my clumsy duck into a
decent rollout and came up swinging for his kidney, but his sword smacked hard across my
wrist.
"No. No fighting back. This exercise is about predictive dodging. Assess my stance, know
where I'm going to be and how I'm going to strike at you before I even move."
I frowned at him but took in his position, one foot advanced and facing forward, the other
back and at a diagonal, his left shoulder lowered for a rush or maybe a quick, long lunge.
"Every time you get hit," said Seth, "I'm going to come at you harder. Now reset."
Although I wasn't thrilled about this new exercise, at least I'd managed to catch my breath. I
danced on the balls of my feet, taking in his wider stance, watching where he shifted his
weight, noting the angle of his blades.
Instead of the confident lunge I'd imagined, Seth darted forward in two erratic, zagging
strides, and instead of the quick cut I had expected, he brought the practice weapons around
and down across the back of my legs. My knees buckled.
"Damn it!" I cursed, pressing my fists down into the padded floor. "You changed what you
were going to do."
"I didn't. You're limiting your predictions to one guess, based solely on assumptions about
your opponent, rather than deciding every place my strike could meet you and making sure
you're in none of them. If you act alongside your enemy instead of reacting to them, then
you'll stand a chance at survival, even against an irrational enemy that is both stronger and
faster than you."
Gritting my teeth, I stood and rubbed the new welts forming across my hamstrings. "Yeah,
okay, but do you have to hit so hard out of the gate?"
"You'll live," Seth said, with the barest hint of a smirk on his face. "Now, let's go again."
Already physically exhausted, I now added mental strain to the mix. Seth had abandoned his
usual moveset entirely, and each analysis I made was plagued by second-guesses. It didn't
help that he kept taking cheap shots, following up any hit he landed fairly with a sudden
wallop to the back of the helmet or to the ankle while I tried to recover. As my frustration
rose, my attention faded. Instead of carefully examining Seth's posture, I started predicting
based on what he'd done before, which resulted in a painful strike each time. By the end, I
was pretty sure I'd gotten worse, not better.
Still, Seth's expression remained emotionless throughout, which was a damned sight better
than simmering disapproval. "Okay, I think that's enough. Go clean up."
A tremor ran through my body as I relaxed for the first time in the last ninety
minutes—maybe even in the last twenty-four hours. Too tired to say anything, and uncertain
how I was feeling anyway, I opened the door of our small private room, but before I could
step out into the gym, Seth spoke again.
"Torrin. Be honest with me."
I stopped with my hand still on the knob and looked back at him.
"Why do you feel like you have to do this?"
I puffed up, ready to defend myself, but then I processed his tone. It wasn't judgemental or
dismissive, or even emotionless. He sounded like he really wanted to know—to understand.
"Right before I came down here, Hanna took me to see some of the researchers over in
Tower One. Because of my time in the rifts, I was able to show them something they'd never
noticed before." I swallowed, struggling to think of the right words now that Seth seemed to
be giving me a chance to explain. "I want to be right at the forefront of innovation, in all of
it—the rifts, raden, parabeasts, equipment engineering, you name it. It's something I can do
just as well as anyone else, maybe even better. But I need this experience to do that."
Seth's eyes cut a downward slant, not meeting mine. "Eventually, the danger will catch up
with you. You have to know that."
I shook my head, then had to wipe sweat out of my eyes. "Maybe, but I'm not trying to be an
ardent, throwing myself at the rifts until my luck runs out. With enough experience—the right
kind of experience—I don't have to do it forever." I cracked a smile. "I have a niece I need to
see grow up, after all."
His gaze lifted, and he stepped closer, lips parted and one arm raised as if to settle on my
shoulder. Then his brows fell, pupils shifting over my shoulder.
I turned.
The other ardents in the gym were all staring at the entry door. Red light flashed through the
crack beneath it. A moment later, the muted buzzing of a siren sounded.
"A red alert…" I muttered, shocked.
Seth was already moving, crossing the gym floor in a second. He opened the door, and the
full shriek of the warning siren filled the gym.
"Get your stuff. We need to move," Seth ordered, snapping into military precision mode.
The other ardents jumped into action as if he'd been speaking to them, but I hesitated.
Too slowly, I stripped off my training gear, staring as Seth grabbed his bag and threw it over
his shoulder. I almost asked him what he had been about to say when he tossed my duffel
bag at me.
"Keep up," he said, breaking into a run.
We hurried out of the gym and darted down the halls, which flickered wildly. "Code red's an
external emergency, right?" I panted. "An approaching mob, an incoming missile, a rampant
parabeast…"
"Or worse," Seth answered curtly.
"Could this be a drill?"
"I doubt it." Seth reached the elevator before me and used his ID card to override its
controls. The doors closed behind us with a mechanical whir, and glowing veins of raden lit
the interior as we shot skyward through Tower Two.
An automated voice came through an unseen speaker, broadcast in a clear but calming
voice. "Repeat: This is not a drill. All staff report to the auditorium. Attendance is mandatory.
Repeat: This is not a drill…"
The elevator stopped and opened in the hectic upper lobby. Orders were being thrown
across the room, visitors and outside personnel were whisked toward exits, and two suited
staffers manned the entrance to the skybridge, checking badges to ensure everyone who
tried to rush through was staff.
Seth and I flashed ours and raced onto the bridge. Raden pulsed in exposed luminescent
pipes, making the space hum like the set of an old pre-rift science fiction movie.
Halfway across, though, the lights started to flicker, and a low rumble like a jet engine shook
the walkway beneath our feet. I braced myself against the wall as the towers shuddered in
unison. The luminescent skybridge quaked like it all might come down on our heads.